Page 88 of For Fillies and Monsters

Nothing.

Boots whinnies again.“What have you done to make her feel like she can trust you? What have you revealed about yourself to make her feel like she can trust you?”

How can a horse be so wise?

“I know, girl. She will love me, she just has to see I won’t leave. That nothing in this world or the next will pry me from her.”

Boots eyelashes flutter, and then she lifts her nose, pushing me away.

I go about picking up the brushes scattered around my feet and feed Boots and the other horses their nightly grain. Boots pauses her munching, small flecks of grain sticking to her pink nose, and stares at me intently. I know if she could speak she’d be telling me off at this point, saying something close to ‘hurry the fuck up, you are just being a pussy’.

How right you are, ole girl.

I pat the stall door once and slink toward the house, nerves consuming my stomach. It’s now or never.

Sucking in a sharp wheeze, I halt, staring at the bike parked in the driveway.His bike. I take in the scene before me for only a minute before I sprint, boots spraying sand as I tear a path toward the house.

When did he get here? How the fuck did I not hear the bike?

I jump the deck stairs completely, yanking the screen door open. At first, I can’t hear anything above my pounding heart or ragged breathing. I try to still both, to make out any other sounds, and then curse when I hear two voices—two voices I hoped I would never hear in the same room.

“Gus?” she calls, her voice hesitant. McCrae’s throatychuckle floats through the doorway, and I stomp into the kitchen without a second thought, plastering on one of my nonchalant grins. Stetson’s eyes zero in on it, annoyance flickering across her face before it fades.

This is a fucking disaster.

“Gussy-poo, so good to see you,” McCrae drawls, his voice teasing, but his eyes snap with anger. Tonight he looks even more tired than he did when he came weeks ago, and I try not to wonder why.

What is making my brother worry so much?

Then I remember this isn’t a friendly family meeting, and I don’t care what is going on with him. Stetson’s head swivels between us, her brows raised toward her golden hairline.

“I, uh, didn’t know you invited your brother for dinner. I would have made something better than pizza,” she states, turning her back to us. I cut my brother another glance, his teasing smile gone, replaced with a hollow expression.

I open my mouth to speak, when McCrae shakes his head—disappointment etched into the jagged lines of his face.

“He’s always been forgetful, Stetson. You’ll have to forgive him for that.”

Stetson looks over her shoulder, her silver eyes snapping to mine. I can see her silently asking me if I am okay, and I smile wider—I don’t want her to know how absolutely freaked out I am. She scowls, not buying it.

“Stetson was just telling me about all the work you’ve done around here. Seems like you’re really motivated to fix this place up, and finally make something of yourself. Tired of looking in the mirror and seeing a washed-up cowboy? Needed a new obsession?” I stare at McCrae, silently pleading with God that this moment will end differently than I’m currently imagining—this is not how I wantStetson to find out.

Stetson doesn’t seem to be paying much attention, her back still toward us as she works on spreading mozzarella.

“Nothing to say?”

“What can I say, McCrae? I found something worth working toward.”

“Or needed a new angle to get the girl.” The words hang between us, and my skin vibrates—with anger or anxiety, I don’t know.

Stetson whirls around, grabbing a handful of diced onion off the counter, and then pauses, staring directly into McCrae’s assessing gaze.

“We either die in the gutter we fall into or climb out of it. It’s always easier too, when you are no longer weighted down with others misplaced expectations. Gus works hard, harder than anyone I know—” she waits, and when he says nothing, she turns around to spread the onion on the cheese. “I’m sure you’re very proud of him for everything he has accomplished here, and all those years rodeoing.”

Her words pelt against my chest, making it constrict so tightly, I have to reach a hand to rub it. No one has ever stood up for me—Fuck, I love her.

McCrae stares at Stetson’s back, his face devoid of emotion, but then he shifts, taking a sip of water from the glass in front of him, and I see a single emotion flicker there. It’s so quickly gone, I might be making it up, but I could swear he looks disappointed, sad even. And that is more confusing than his need to sweep in and destroy my life.

“So, McCrae, what do you do?” Stetson leans back in her chair, a beer hovering over her pink lips.

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